


White Walls, White Room (Rewrite)

by TallowCat



Category: Bravely Default (Video Game) & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, go me, janne a sicc dug, rewrite of stuff i dont like now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 21:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11449155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TallowCat/pseuds/TallowCat
Summary: Maybe in the end he wasn't scared of the simple concept of death, maybe, in some way, he was scared of what would happen beyond him. Or, maybe, he was simply afraid of what would happen during the time, alone in death was not what he would wish upon any one, nor the crushing pain that followed along with the passing of another.





	White Walls, White Room (Rewrite)

White was an incredibly versatile colour, or shade as many would argue. As an artist, as little as it may truly be, Yew knew this. White, in many respects, was one of the most important things to look out for when creating a piece.  
Often the symbol of purity, of things innocent and gentle.  
Of so many things that Yew would often feel warm thinking of, even if white space in a painting could be criticised.

White, in many ways, was something important in understanding many things.

Yet now the look of white simply made Yews stomach flip.  
No longer a colour of purity, the blank walls around him felt like a bleak cage. A thief of the colours the outside world flourished with.  
Even if Eternia was a land painted in snow it managed to thrive on its colours, through the people and their actions, be them that of the strong Duchy, or the innocence of the children.

And while Yew could complain about the white walls, the stuffy smell, the feeling of imprisonment, he, ultimately, was not the one caged in.  
The bird he is, is a free one.  
The wolf, however, is one chained by the neck to a bed unyielding.

Janne, so fiery and strong, was confined to a bed in a room as bleak as an unpainted canvas. Yew could complain all he liked, but he was not the one unable to leave, the honour fell to Janne.  
The honour of being nothing more than a dog with a leash around his neck that would eventually choke him to nothingness.

The flowers Yew picked, as colourful as he could find, seemed to wilt in the room covered in white.  
The first time, whenever that had been, they had lit the room up, and now they simply bled into the backdrop, wilting.

 _“I miss the sun,”_ Janne had proclaimed, fingers tight in the sheets.  
_“Maybe the flowers do too,”_ Yew had offered weakly, tracing a petal.  
_“It’s not fucking fair…”_ Yew had pretended not to hear, forcing himself not to cry.

Janne had never liked sitting still, always anxious to get moving, unless he was tired, then it’d be impossible to make him move.  
Yew couldn’t wait until the days where that would be his biggest worry, though a part of his mind told him the horrid truth.

If it had been a simple injury, a broken arm, a fracture, maybe then he’d have been allowed to tug Janne along to some place bright, some place warm where they could pretend nothing bad had happened and they could be the only two people in the world.

But no, the sickness, something to be monitored, had snuck up and literally stolen the air from his lungs. It had been building from what they’d assumed to be a cold, from something so small as a cough and a chest pain…

\----------------

A sparring match between him and Janne, something that they could pick on each other for. That’s it’d been, a bit of fun. Not real training, just something for them to do and eventually tumble into something softer.

Janne had collapsed, shaking and clawing at the dirt. Yew hadn’t known at first, hadn’t realised. Not until Janne was trying to rip a hole in his throat to make a passage for the air to flow through, because no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t force it into his lungs  
Yew hadn’t known what to do as Janne came close to ripping his insides out.

 _Any later and he wouldn’t have made it,_ that’s what they’d said. Those in the purity of white while Janne struggled to breathe beside him. Any later and he’d have lost the person who meant the most to him.  
He’d felt so weak, the moment the man left the room he’d squeezed Janne’s hand and cried, begged. Begged for Janne to get better because it scared him too much, he was too close, that was too close.  
It took an hour for Janne to calm him down, an hour to whisper the gentle words into his hair and kiss the worries from his little head.

Yew knew Janne was dying. They both did. It was an unspoken thing that neither of them wanted to mention.

Just as how no one wanted to talk about how _shitty_ it was for Janne to be stuck in a bed, staring at the blank ceiling for what felt like years within the period of hours.  
The seconds felt like minutes, the minutes to hours, the hours to days, the days to months and the months to years to decades…

\--------------------

Yew tried to keep a brave face.  
He truly did.  
He tried not to let people see how badly he wanted to cry. Tried his hardest to not let Janne see him break down in the sadness that dwelled within his heart.

But every time he visited it felt like the walls were choking him, suffocating him and trying to force the tears out each time. Like the place of dull white would do all it could to take everything from him, from Janne to his own control.

It was hard not to cry.

Not when Janne would look at the flowers Yew brought and would ask about the world beyond his bed.  
_“How is everyone?”_  
“Are those normally in bloom now?”  
“How is everyone?”  
He’d chat about a world he’d never see again.

It was hard not to cry when Janne fiddled sadly with the flower petals, eyes far off.

Yew Geneolgia tried so very hard.

Yew Geneolgia still broke.

\-----------------

Janne looked horrid. He looked sick and tired. Pale face not suiting the man Yew had known as loud in all regards. The darkness under his eyes was not fitting of the man Yew would hear complaints from if they weren’t both curled up and asleep when he demanded. Janne looked like a man who hadn’t slept years upon days, and that did not fit Yew’s strong Janne at all.

Yew knew Janne didn’t really sleep here, he’d spent long nights awake with him.

Janne had complained of sickness, unable to sleep due to the churning in his stomach. He found it hard to breathe other nights, wheezing in the air to keep himself alive, the simple act more complicated then it ever needed to be.

Janne had been too scared to sleep, too scared that he’d stop breathing with no one to help him.  
Yew had felt sick, curling a little closer.

\--------------

Janne’s hair was one of Yew’s favourite things. So soft and he had fond memories of tangling his fingers in it while he and Janne laughed about something silly they were doing. Or when they were being stupid teenagers trying to sneak kisses without anyone knowing.

But Janne’s hair had turned from something soft and thick to something…dying and thin. Yew refused to make the connection directly to the rest of Janne’s body, so, instead, he’d dumped the thought in the back of his mind to fester another time.

Yew could recall tangling flowers in his hair, laughing at the way they lit up Janne’s dark hair.  
Yew could recall holding his fingers in Janne’s hair to remind him that Janne was there, that Janne loved him, that Janne would not be leaving him.

On the day Janne had presented Yew with the brush, hands too pale and thin that it made Yew sick, he’d near demanded Yew be the one to brush it.

_“You always did it best.”_

Yew had been delighted, something familiar.

But it all fell into disgust when he brushed Janne’s hair. He met no resistance as the hair pulled out, clumps tangling in the brush to be pulled out. It was out quick and easy. Horribly long clumps of hair fell from Janne’s head and Yew had only just realised the loss in length.

His hands had shaken and he’d watched as Janne refused to meet his eye, shaking and crying as he fisted the sheets, demanding that Yew finish what he started, _please._

\------------------

Yew was horribly scared. Not in the same way as when he was up high or when he heard the house creak in the night. Not in the way that made him want to huddle under his sheets.  
This was a fear that made him want to scream and kick and wail until something changed.

_“Are…Are you scared, Janne..?”  
“I don’t fucking know… I don’t want- I don’t want to leave. I haven’t DONE anything, everything I w-wanted and it’s just… all because I’ll be… Haha… look I’m crying, what a piece of work I am…”_

Janne’s grip on him had been tight that night, his tears had soaked Yew’s front in a way he’d never wanted or ever expected.  
Janne had sobbed his fears into Yew, his friend, his lover, his teammate. His fears of death and dying, his fears of being utterly alone in a place that may take his mind from him.

Yew had muttered shaky comforts in the night, whispers to Janne of things of kindness. Shaky hidden tears of his own hidden away as he tried to kiss Janne’s fears away, all while holding him tight, as if to hide him from the world that would continue to turn when he died.  
Janne had been so thin and weak.

Composure was thrown to the feral dogs and they both broke.  
Sobbing and begging each other to never leave, sobbing and trying to kiss to sadness from their hearts.  
They knew they were both fucked in the end, but, for a moment, their sobbing felt like it would help.

\----------------

Janne greeted him with a kiss, every time, no exceptions.  
Well, he always greeted him when he was awake.

When Yew brought flowers he’d wait and then tug him down, smiling all the while.  
To the forehead, the cheek, or, his favourite and the most common, his lips.

Janne would always laugh and tease at his pink face, actions that made Yew’s chest squeeze tightly and his composure nearly break.

_“I love you, Yew.”  
“I love you too, Janne.”_

They talked like nothing was wrong, Janne still able to make him smile and still able to tease him to make him whine. They could talk and act as though things were the same, as though they _were_ just talking like old times.  
Of course it became harder the more Janne changed. Thin and pale with hair fluttering from his head to make it short.

It grew harder and harder for Yew to close his eyes and pretend everything was okay.

\----------

A year, in truth, was not very long.  
Especially with the term, “at most” attached to it.

Janne had a year, they told him.  
At most, they reminded.  
Probably less.

One year before Janne died.  
One year before he left Yew behind.  
One year until he lost everything.  
One year until Yew broke.

They tried to cherish the time they had, neither one ever speaking the dreaded words as if too taboo, too horrific. In a way they were. It felt like there was a clock ticking above Janne’s head that grew slower the closer his last second came.

Yew stayed by him, just as he’d promised. As visitors filed out Yew refused, curling closer to Janne’s side and hiding away from the people that would try and make him leave.  
Maybe it was simply pity that made them decide to let Yew stay cuddled to Janne’s side, maybe it was their unwillingness to force Yew away when Janne’s time was still uncertain.  
So Yew stayed, day and night.

The pitied looks he earned were ignored.  
Janne wasn’t dead yet, he wasn’t gone, he hadn’t fallen yet.

But everyone knew that there would be no one there to catch him when Yew Geneiolgia finally fell.

\-----------

The nights were the worst, the uncertainty they brought made Yew feel as though the world had slowed to a sickening crawl just to laugh at his anxiety.

Words were rarely exchanged during this time, during those moments where they both just wanted to feel and not worry for the possible cracks they’d inevitably fall into.  
Yew would be silent, fingers tangled gently in what was left of Janne’s hair, hiding away from the world in Janne’s embrace.  
He’d close his eyes and listen to the simple beat of Janne’s heart, a sound so familiar, and the ragged inhales and exhales that racked the chest he laid on.

He forced himself not to cry at the off sound.

But the sound of pain Janne made broke the pattern that had begun to calm Yew down, the pattern of breathing and beats. And Yew couldn’t keep the cracks from splitting and everything tumbling out.

He gripped Janne a little tighter, bawling his eyes out as he begged and cried for Janne to stay, begged and cred for Janne to not leave him. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fucking fair. Who had the right to take his Janne from him? To take the thing that he held the closest?  
He had the right to kill Janne and make him suffer like this?

_“H-Hey, Yew, shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay… I’m here, it’s okay, I love you, shh…”_

\---------------

There were days when Yew had no energy, no desire, no drive.

He’d lay in his bed, hiding away with Janne’s old coat over him as a blanket, as support, as something. He couldn’t get up, he couldn’t stand the looks people gave him, he couldn’t stomach the thought that the world would just keep moving even though Janne was gone.  
In a way, he almost wanted the world to end with Janne so he couldn’t feel this grief that stopped him from moving…

He’d gone in with flowers, the prettiest bunch yet.  
He’d been gently tugged aside and told the news.

And Yew Geneolgia broke down into sobs and begs, demanding it all to be a joke, demanding that they be untruthful. That Janne hadn’t passed yet, that Janne hadn’t left him in the night, that Janne was still there for at least one more day.

That he hadn’t left that night, the first night in ages, only for Janne to leave him.

\-----------------

Janne liked to be in the know, he hated to miss out on things.  
Yew was sure to keep him in the know. With his coat tugged tight around him he’d curl up beside Janne’s grave and tell him the happenings for the week. He’d screw his eyes shut, bury his nose in the collar and pretend they were both home, that Janne was simply being quiet while Yew spoke, in that gentle way he used to.

It hurt, the grief made his chest ache and his desires dull.  
But, he would try.  
He would try.

_“I love you, Janne.”  
“I love you too, always will, Yew.”_


End file.
